


Put My Heart Over A Low Flame

by PolarGrizz47



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Chef AU, M/M, the cooking au nobody saw coming!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolarGrizz47/pseuds/PolarGrizz47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chef Elias runs one of New York's top restaurants.<br/>Anthony was just hired for the prestigious serving job, thanks to an old army buddy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put My Heart Over A Low Flame

**Author's Note:**

> *Still in denial. Buries myself in AU*

Chef Elias wasn’t a man to be trifled with. He ran his kitchen like one of those master-chefs from a horrifying television series. The poor underlings all shiver under his commands, but he’s a fair and just man. He’s not prone to fly off the handle when a streak is cooked too much or a crumble pie is too soft and more mush than actual crumble. He’s patient and rewarding.

Anthony has heard all about him before even applying for a serving job. Reese was known to dine their often with his boyfriend, the reclusive, billionaire genius, Mr. Finch. He can still remember their conversation one night when Anthony was all out of options and tugging his hair out worrying over rent.

“Anthony?” John’s voice was all scratchy and dull with sleep. Brown eyes dart over to the clock, twelve am. He should have waited to call later, much later. Let Reese sleep and not worry. But he’d been pacing back and forth in his little dingy apartment for hours now.

He can’t believe they laid him off at the bar. Things were just starting to fit together nicely and he could finally move on from the past haunts of his life.

The ex-soldier was concerned about losing his home and ending up on the streets like so many of his unfortunate comrades. John had pulled through, somehow. He’d even heard rumors that Reese was a bum for a few months. Living in the subways and off the spare cents to pull together an alcoholic meal. Anthony can’t do that. Not again.

All those things remind him of the group home and he hopes that John can offer some sort of help. Anthony would even take a dish washing job, but he doesn’t know where to look.

“Yeah – John,” Anthony runs a hand down his face as he sits on the edge of a musty bed, trying to figure out what to say. It’s nearing twelve ten. “Fuck – I’m sorry. I’ll call later, okay?”

“No, it’s fine, really. We had a late night anyways… just got home.” Reese yawns on the other line and Anthony’s trained ears picks up the soft clinks of a door being unlocked. “Is everything okay?” He asks after a shuffle of feet and a few distant woofs from Bear echo across their connection.

Everything’s not okay. It’s so far from okay and Anthony has to take a deep breath to stop from spilling out everything too quickly. He suddenly feels a hot wash of embarrassment and shame nip at him and he panics.

He hangs up.

After a few moments of self-loathing with his face in the blue pillow, Anthony’s not surprised to hear his ringtone announcing another call. He shoves the phone under the pillow and tries to ignore its insistent ringing.

Reese calls again.

Anthony finally yanks the phone back and flips it open. “Hello?” His voice is lacking its usual luster.

Reese doesn’t answer for a few seconds, and Anthony can almost feel the intense concern over their line. Finally, Reese asks, “What’s wrong?”

And Anthony sucks in a breath through clenched teeth before finally allowing all his pent up worries to burst out.

-:-

“Carl Elias is a good friend.” Harold explained with a worried smile across the table. Anthony feels underdressed in his dark jeans, blue shirt and leather jacket. Reese and Finch seem to be dressed to the nines compared to him. John sends him a comforting smile when their eyes meet and Anthony stares down into the coffee cup.

He’s never liked his coffee sweetened like this, but he doesn’t say anything out of courtesy. Instead, he settles for giving a nod and a bland hum in interest.

“It just so happens that he’s short on wait-staff and I’m sure you’d be a great addition. You cook too, right?” Finch continues like he can’t notice the sheer amount of embarrassment that’s coming from Reese’s old friend. In the truth of it all, he just wants to make sure this man doesn’t end up like Reese did. The thought pains him and he gives John’s hand a squeeze from where it sits under the table, perched on his knee.

“I can throw together some things.” Anthony shrugs nonchalantly. He’d never had an interest in working in the kitchen, even though he has old recipes of his long deceased mothers memorized. “Wait-staff sounds great. Is it minimum wage?”

“Oh, heavens no!” Finch laughs at his question, smiling at the confused face the scarred man pulls. “Carl is a world renowned chef; he pays his employees much better than that. In fact, he believes that money will help him keep this ‘well-oiled machine running’.” Finch seems to have heard the chef’s favorite line more than a handful of times. He resists the urge to try and mimic Carl’s voice.

It takes a few startled seconds, but Anthony eventually pulls a relieved smile. “Of course…” He mutters and glances down towards the floor. Bear is still curled up by Harold’s side, wearing the little vest that signifies his status as service animal.

He wonders if the wounds are physical (his limp doesn’t seem to require an animal), or psychological (perhaps he’s got high anxiety from the explosion).

Anthony shoves those thoughts away and lets their conversation drift from topic to topic. He’s glad to see that Reese found himself somebody, no matter how odd it may be. He’d never imagined his old pal to be bisexual, and gay, well that was out of the question. But he can’t deny the gleaming grin that shines through John’s eyes whenever he looks at Harold.

It almost makes him envious.

The only person he’d ever felt such devotion towards was a long forgotten friend from the group home… what was his name again?

The memories of his father’s blood and guns in his face blur a lot of things now. Keeps him up at night sometimes.

While he furrows his brows and tries to untangle the jumble of memories, Anthony doesn’t even realize the conversation has died down and they’re both staring at him like he’s crazy. Clearing his throat, John asks, “How was the coffee?”

Jolted from his confusing memories, Anthony jerks his gaze up and merely nods. “Yeah – yeah, sorry.” An odd laugh leaves his mouth before he continues, “It was great. A little too sugary, but it had a nice flavor.” He spits out all his words nervously, and feels embarrassment nip at him again. Right at the back of his neck where the skin isn’t covered by the leather, and then slowly spread outwards onto his cheeks.

Harold nods comfortingly and Reese doesn’t find his actions even slightly bizarre.

He can remember what it was like coming home from intense situations, to get easily distracted and then feel ashamed for it. John’s stormy grey eyes rest on Finch and he squeezes his hand once more, clear blue eyes return the gaze, and they smile.

-:-

Anthony can safely say he had never seen a restaurant set up quite like Elias’. _Veni_ , _V_ _idi_ , _Vici,_ _or_ _The Triple V_ was a large, yet exceedingly homey place. It had booths with rustic colors along the walls caging the large kitchen in the center. Apparently that one was merely for show. When Elias felt the need to impress some more high paying guests he’d work there in the middle of the floor like a silent world-weaver and leave some customers drooling by just the delicious smells.

The main kitchen was in the back. Three large, double doors swing with the kind tempered waiters and waitresses movements while the sounds of calming music and the methodic clinks and clanks of silverware echo softly from its open doors before being overpowered by the live music thrumming through the dining area.

It’s not even open yet and still Anthony can’t help but to feel nervous. He’s never had an official wait-serve job like this before. All the workers wear a nice blue, red, black and white ensemble. They look prim and proper and yet so lively and approachable.

He doesn’t know if he can pull this off without embarrassing the chef, and himself.

Wordlessly, he trails behind Finch as the man guides him through the series of tables and booths until they suddenly reach a set of stairs that has been hidden nicely by the men’s room. “Carl said he’d like to interview you here. He’s running short on time, and well, you know how it is.” Harold doesn’t take the climb of the steps and instead reaches down to give Bear a few comforting pats. “We’ll wait here, okay? Reese and I need to make a call, so go ahead and take your time.”

Anthony is ushered up that narrow flight of stairs before he can question much of anything. All too suddenly he meets a thick oak door, with a simple C.E. carved into the wood in a neat script. Glancing back down the stairs, he finds that Finch has already left him.

Swallowing a bit of nervousness, Anthony knocks on the door.

He counts his heartbeats while he waits for a reply. One, two, three, four, five-

“Come in!” A cheery and slightly distracted voice echoes from within. Anthony grabs the golden doorknob and gives it a little turn as he carefully opens the door. It opens into a nice warm, natural color schemed room. There is a rug with grape vines under a large cherry wood desk and a painting of a few nameless men hanging behind the man at the desk.

Carl was busy scrawling out orders for new supplies and barely lets the ink dry on his signature before he closes up the notebook and sets it aside. Finally, he lifts his head to meet the man he’d heard John going on and on about one day during a little get-together.

He knows that Finch is worried about the guy, and that he’s down on is luck and looking for a job. Elias also knows the man is an ex-marine. That could be useful one day-

All is thoughts converge and crash to a halt the moment he sees the shorter man in the doorway. Dressed in leather, jeans and a red scarf to ward off the chill of the incoming winter. His hair is a little messy, curling neatly to one side and swept back lazily. He’s not exactly smiling, but he’s trying and it makes the scar bisecting his cheek stand out even more.

But it’s the eyes that give it away. Those haunting familiar deep brown eyes flicker from object to object in his office before finally landing on Elias himself.

Before he can stop himself, Carl is jumping to his feet and staring at the other man like a ghost. It startled Anthony, and he goes rigid for a moment before Elias can speak. “Anthony?”

His words are careful, well founded in their beliefs yet ready to face a rebuttal. Anthony feels his chest tighten for an unknown reason, and he nearly stumbles and falls backwards down those stairs. Catching himself on the wall, Anthony can only take in a worrying breath as he stares hard at the chef.

Balding, a little on the heavy side and well dressed. He’s nearly unremarkable. Staring past the thin framed glasses on his nose and trying to meet his eyes takes some effort, mainly because Anthony doesn’t like to stare too hard at people now.

It takes a second, but finally a missing puzzle piece drops into his lap and he frantically searches for the right spot.

Those eyes burn into a way that would’ve been unsettling if it was anyone else. They’re calculating and loving, charming and murdering all at the same time. Anthony finds himself trying to pull up an old file he’d rather throw away.

Home for boys. Place for unexpected friendships. Police records. Joining the army.

That’s why his name sounded aching familiar.

Finally, with a shuddering, nervous breath, Anthony replies. “Carl?”

**Author's Note:**

> I just like the idea of Carl owning a restaurant and being reunited with his friend.  
> I'm really digging this AU the more I write it so there will probably be another chapter appearing here shortly.
> 
> YAY Thanksgiving break! Would've loved if they kept my bby around and didn't blow him up but oh well.


End file.
